Work Text:
Gerry Delano’s eyelids burned sleepily, a small, not-entirely-unpleasant sting like the crackling of flame. They tried to fall shut, growing heavier by the second, but Gerry—spiteful as he ever was—fought to hold them open. Not for the movie, no, but for the man whose pajama-clad thighs cradled Gerry’s head.
Gerry pressed a cheek to Michael’s left thigh, the same one his hand rested upon. The two had draped themselves over the couch in their small apartment once Gerry’s Xanax finally decided to kick in, bogging down his senses to a soft, thick haze, like the smoke of a fireplace. For once in a long while, he found himself breathing deeply, easily.
Michael’s nails carded through Gerry’s black hair. “You can sleep, my love,” he giggled, “you look so tired.”
“Nonsense,” he murmured, “‘wanna stay up with you.” Though Michael’s clever fingers drew him ever closer to the shadowy brink of sleep.
“You’ll see me tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll probably be anxious again then,” Gerry reasoned thoughtlessly as he pressed a kiss to Michael’s thigh. “It won’t be as pleasant.”
Michael sniffed, the hand on Gerry’s scalp hesitating for a moment.
They’d talked earlier, of course, about what had ripped Gerry from a slow simmering of nauseas anxiety into his full breakdown, locked in their apartment’s small bathroom. Michael always pushed his best efforts into making Gerry talk—perhaps, if he hadn’t been marked by (and narrowly escaped) the spiral, the eye would’ve been a very lucky entity to sink its claws into Michael.
Gerry gently squeezed his boyfriend’s thigh. He wouldn’t let any conniving fear god even consider touching Michael.
But for now, he lacked the energy to spite the fears who ruled Gerry’s life from the hospital room. For now, Gerry could simply dote on the man lying with him in a way no stranger or archive fiend would believe he ever had the capacity for.
With the final dregs of his energy, Gerry pulled himself up to press his cheek to Michael’s shoulder, body draped over his boyfriend’s like a weighted blanket.
“Fine,” Gerry mumbled. “I’ll get some sleep.”
Michael crowned Gerry’s forehead in small, light kisses. “It’s quite good for you. And I’m likely not far behind.”
Gerry smiled and leaned up one final time to kiss the corner of Michael’s mouth, like one might slowly press a stamp into melted wax. Then, sinking down to rest his head upon Michael’s chest, Gerry practically fell asleep before he could even shut his eyes.